


to be alone with you

by junkyard_parade



Category: West Side Story (1961)
Genre: Light Angst, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Pining, Tony is oblivious, poor riff, probably some internalized homophobia in the mix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:55:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28187262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junkyard_parade/pseuds/junkyard_parade
Summary: "Whaddya mean? You got everything here!" Riff exclaimed, throwing his arms out. "Your buddies! You rule the streets, Tony! We did it together! C'mon, look me straight in the face and tell me that ain't enough for ya."Or, how Tony told Riff he wanted to leave the Jets, and what changed and what didn't.
Relationships: Riff/Tony (West Side Story)
Kudos: 6





	to be alone with you

**Author's Note:**

> hello!! this was barely proofread, but regardless - please enjoy this lil thingy I made for a nearly non-existent fandom :))

It would be so much easier, Riff thought as he lazily dangled his legs over the fire escape's edge, if Tony hadn't up and left the Jets. Because now he couldn't hide behind the constant action and excitement of being in a gang together, which meant he could only talk one-on-one with Tony, which meant he had to drop the gang mentality while around him, which meant he was vulnerable - and Riff wasn't familiar with that. He wasn't some Mickey Mouse sap. No sirree - he was a guy you'd never see a lick of concern in. Confidence and lack of affect was his thing. Don't let 'em see they get to you, and they won't.

Riff had always been the talker, but now it seemed they'd switched roles. He could never find much to say when he was alone with Tony, who now talked endlessly about his work day, who he saw at the shop, the weather, all that. Riff listened of course - but it was strange.

These were the thoughts that plagued Riff's mind as he sat there alone on the fire escape waiting for Tony to get back from Doc's, legs swinging back and forth slightly, cigarette held precariously between his lips. The metal edge was starting to dig into the back of his knees, but it didn't really bother him. 

His mind strayed to the night Tony left the Jets. It still stung, though he'd never admit it.

***

Tony was definitely not the most logical person Riff had ever met. Literally every time he met a girl he liked, he had gazed at Riff so intensely he thought he might just melt, insisting "she's perfect, man. You don't understand. She's the _one._ " The look in his eyes was always the same kind of starstruck, and Riff never had the heart to tell him otherwise.

Tony was always going head over heels for some girl who he would inevitably become convinced was his soulmate. Things wouldn't work out for whatever reason, and he'd become desperately sad for a few days, sometimes even a week. He was as hot and cold as tapwater in the spring. 

So when he quietly admitted that he was thinking of quitting the gang, Riff had figured it wouldn't take too much to convince him to stay. He was wrong. 

"Aw, we ain't bad kids, Tony-boy -- we was just never taught the fine art of bein' good!" Riff batted his eyelashes.

"That's not what I meant," Tony protested, his eyes downcast uncomfortably. He picked up a crate of soda pops, carried it over to a rickety metal cart, and set it on top of the others.

"Hey, what's gotten into you?" Riff said incredulously. "Lighten up! Did startin' work here at Doc's sap your fine sense of humor?" He gave Tony's arm a light punch, and was met with a small huff of annoyance.

"I'm serious, Riff. Really, I am."

Tony turned back around, his brow furrowed. "My folks can't.... My folks didn't come here for their kid to play cops and robbers in the streets. I feel like I oughta be doing more. I don't know what exactly, but...." He looked up at the sky, almost wistfully. "I dunno. Just something more. This can't be all, right?"

Ouch.

"Whaddya mean? You got everything here!" Riff exclaimed, throwing his arms out. "Your buddies! You rule the streets, Tony! We did it together! C'mon, look me straight in the face and tell me that ain't enough for ya."

Tony sighed and leaned on a stack of empty crates. "You don't get it, Riff. We're... We're different people. We want different things, ya know? We think different, and, and we want different." He waved his hands around a little mindlessly as he spoke, like he was grabbing around for the right words.

"And... bein' here forever isn't what I want." 

There was silence for a moment before Riff awkwardly shoved his hands in his pockets and pulled his shoulders up in a shrug.

"You're serious?" He said quietly. The look on his face was entirely chilled out, but Tony could pick up on when his buddy was faking it.

"Riff," Tony started softly, "you know you're my best man, always. The gang, too. But this just isn't for me. I need to... to get out, to see things and experience things. I need to _know_."

"Know what?" Riff asked, at a total loss.

"I don't know. But I need to find out or I'll explode."

Riff had never really understood why Tony talked so vaguely, and often abstractly. Part of him had always admired how he could find metaphors for things Riff himself could never describe, and the other half wished he would just get to the point and say things clearly - and that certainly wasn't changing today.

"If that's what you want," Riff mused, nodding and looking down the street briefly, "then who am I to tell ya no?"

Tony smiled a little, and his eyes looked sad. The Jets really had been everything to him for so long. But every night, when he lay in bed unable to sleep, staring up at the same old ceiling he'd always seen, and feeling like a balloon was inflating in his chest when he thought of what could be - what was beyond the city, beyond the state lines - he knew he had to get out and _see,_ and every night he became even more sure. 

Tony paused, suddenly shy and staring down at his shoes. Riff watched him. The short fringe of dark lashes, the way his lips pursed when he thought, the little scar just above his right eyebrow that came from when an Emerald smashed a broken bottle into him. Tony'd really saved Riff's skin that night though, and the scar was sort of a reminder of that, Riff figured. Whenever Tony'd get distracted by something like birds flying by or a rainstorm that was rolling in, Riff's eyes often found the little scar. His heart sort of clenched when he looked at it while Tony drifted off. He never mentioned it though.

Tony finally looked back up from his shoes, and a shot of adrenaline ran through Riff like it did when they'd gotten caught drawing on the outside of the school by a teacher. His face burned, and Tony smiled before laying a hand on Riff's shoulder and patting it lightly. 

"Thank you for listening."

Riff didn't understand why he said that - what was he gonna do, walk away and plug his ears? Nevertheless, he bobbed his head a little in acknowledgement. "Yeah."

There was another pause, and for the first time in as long as they'd known each other, it wasn't comfortable silence. It felt weird, and Riff didn't like it one bit.

"What do I tell the gang, huh?"

"I dunno. Whatever you think they need to know, I guess. You're the big man," Tony said, smiling again with a little laugh. "Those guys don't need me. Not really. Not when they've got you to lead 'em."

The pain in Riff's chest briefly turned into warmth. "Yeah," he repeated with a shrug and blowing out smoke before figuring he should probably try and say something of more substance. "Thanks, buddy," was all that came to mind.

"You're welcome," Tony said quietly. "We'll hang out, you and me. Just not with the Jets, yeah? Just you and me."

Riff nodded, looking around. It was getting late and the sky was a dark blue - he should get back to the Jets soon. He twiddled his cigarette between two fingers. "Yeah, we ain't splitting or nothin'," Riff said, almost to reassure himself. He stuck out his hand to shake on it, and Tony - observant, oblivious Tony who could always tell when Riff was upset, no matter how hard he tried to conceal it, but couldn't pick up on a single hint Riff dropped - grabbed Riff's hand briefly before pulling him in for a hug.

Riff could've sworn he felt Tony's heart beating through his jacket, and he tightened his arms around him slowly.

"Thank you for understanding," Tony murmured into Riff's shoulder. "Really, Riff, thank you." He leaned back again and Riff quickly removed his arms and stuck his cigarette back in his mouth.

"Womb to tomb?" 

Tony smiled, and it didn't seem so dark outside anymore.

"Birth to earth."

***

That was three weeks ago. It had been a weird transition. Riff often dropped by Doc's to catch Tony up on any Jets gossip he might like to know, as well as giving him updates on how each of them were doing. Tony somehow got Doc to give Riff a free pop a day, and Riff made sure not to abuse that privilege _too_ much. He and Tony still played basketball when the court was empty, still went on adventures through the no-man's-land alleys on Sundays, which were cease-fire days. They still hung out on the fire escape outside Tony's room and talked about whatever. 

That's where Riff was sitting now, waiting for Tony to get back from Doc's. He hadn't had the energy to go all the way down there, so he'd come straight to Tony's to wait for him there instead. It was warmer that night than it had been in awhile, and Riff shrugged his jacket off, glancing up at the sky.

The clouds were kinda pretty, all pink and blue and fluffy. He wondered what Tony would have to say about it. Maybe he'd point out the clouds when he got there. Maybe he'd been watching them ever since the sun started setting. Damn, he probably wouldn't have even noticed or appreciated the clouds a few months back.

Tony had noticed the clouds already, as it turned out, as he came walking at a snail's pace down the street, staring up at them. Riff told him to hurry it up before he got old and died, and Tony jogged the rest of the way.

As soon as he was sitting next to Riff on the fire escape, Tony said something about cotton candy and how the sky looked like a painting or something. Riff nodded periodically. Tony was right, he realized. They _did_ want different things.

The sky was nice, yeah - it's just that Tony was nicer, staring up at the clouds with his mouth half open and his eyes wide as if in awe. It was endearing, in a soft, subtle way. Gentle. Tony did that a lot - looked up at the sky with a faraway look on his face.

And when Tony was looking at the sky, that meant Riff could look at Tony, and that was about all a guy could ask for in that moment. 


End file.
